Page 67 of Every Heartbeat After

We arriveat the market just after noon, when Tess assures me that the rush of locals grabbing a bite to eat will have finally died down. The tourists, however, are still out in abundance. Not that we have any room to judge. Though it’s hard not to look at the swaths of folks wearing neon T-shirts spray painted with beachy designs tucked into their fanny packs and feel some sense of superiority. Sure, we aren’t from here either. But at least we aren’t arguing over the price of a jar of shells from one of the more kitschy stalls rather than walking down to the nearby beach to collect some ourselves.

Sun-bleached cobblestones warm the ground beneath my flip-flops. Tess’s hand is slick in mine, but not once do I consider letting go. I’m not sure if she even realizes that she’s smiling, but it’s there in the swollen apples of her cheeks. The slight crinkle at the edges of her eyes. Her gaze dances from stall to stall, taking it all in like it’s the first time she’s seen it rather than the hundredth.

“You said your mom liked this place?” I ask, squeezing her hand to punctuate my question.

Her gaze flits to meet mine, and her smile takes on a weary air. “She did. She’d insist on coming to visit this one particular shop owner who makes handmade jewelry.” She holds up her free hand and wiggles her fingers, causing the sunlight to reflect off her many rings. “Some of these were hers. A lot of them are mine. I still get a ring every summer in her honor.”

“From the same shop?”

She nods. “The very one.”

Seagulls shriek overhead, announcing their demand for a dropped fry or a discarded ice cream cone. Between the sunlight beating down and the thrumming mass of bodies, heat presses in like a physical front, slowly shrinking the available free space. But Tess either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. She’s in her element, smiling at shopkeepers. Waving to babies in carriers. She gives away so much happiness. Sometimes I wish she’d learn to keep a little more for herself.

I clear my throat, drawing her attention away from a street performer dressed in Statue of Liberty regalia. She lifts a brow, and I tilt my head slightly. “How are things going with the ‘figuring out what to do with my life’ task?”

She shakes her head as she turns to face forward again. “All quiet on the western front.”

I elbow her ribs as best I can without releasing her hand.

Her responding laughter is half-hearted, a flash of brilliant white teeth that’s here and gone again in an instant. “That was a bit of a lofty goal, I’ll admit. It’s like Einstein coming up with the theory of relativity in a week.”

“Bold of you to compare the complexity of your life to theorizing how gravity affects the fabric of space and time.”

This time it’s my ribs getting elbowed. I huff a laugh, knowing I deserved it. At least she’s smiling now, in a way that almost feels genuine.

I pinch my lips together and let her stew in silence for a few minutes as we stroll past a hot dog stand and a snow cone cart that have my mouth watering for different reasons. Finally, when we reach a set of benches, she tugs me toward one and drags me down beside her.

She folds our joined hands together with her other in her lap. The scent of sugar and sunshine wafts off her exposed skin, smelling more delicious than any food we’ve passed. I have to force myself to focus on the intensity carving out her features. Turns out, now that I’ve tasted her, any time spent without a sampling leaves me ravenous.

“I talked to Gary about it, actually. While you were on your run.” She grazes her teeth over her rosy bottom lip, staring straight ahead even though I doubt she’s seeing any of the people who cross her path. “I think I spent so long running from my grief that I’m just now processing it at thirty years old. Thanks to you and Gary and everything else, I’m taking a hard look internally and realizing just how much of who I am is made up of what happened to me, whether directly or as a result of trying to seem fine in spite of it. And you know what? I kind of hate it. I don’t want to be a product of loss. Or at least, not only that. I’d like to become a different, better version of myself. Something that resembles who I might’ve been if my parents hadn’t gone and died on me when I needed them most.”

She draws in a deep breath and drops her gaze to our folded hands. “You probably think I’m dumb. Sold on New Agey bullshit about reinventing oneself with the help of a crystal and a few affirmations.”

I swallow a painful laugh, catching it like a knot in my throat, which is somehow both incredibly dry from the heat and also drenched in humid air. “I never once thought that.”

Sunlight dances in her wavy hair as she shakes her head. “And why wouldn’t you? I mean, how much can one person really change?”

I scratch my freshly shaven jawline. My gaze drifts to the not-so-distant Gulf, its surface a mesmerizing shade of emerald. “I like to think I’ve changed a lot. That I’ve learned from my mistakes.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

I smile as a boat glides past, disturbing the peaceful surface of the water. “I let you go once without a fight. Not so much this time.”

“I’d hardly call you inserting yourself into my vacation a fight.” She inflates her cheeks, then lets the air out slowly. “Persistent, for sure. But not a fight.”

“Point is, we’re here now. Something I would’ve missed out on completely if I hadn’t kept trying.” I bring her knuckles to my lips and savor her sweet scent.

She half scoffs, half snorts, then yanks her hand from my grasp to fold it over her chest. I relax into the bench, stretching out my limbs to soak in some additional sun. All too soon, I’ll go back to rotting away my days inside a vehicle, turning pale as the snow-capped Colorado mountains come December.

“Do you know what I want more than anything?” she starts, voice laced with purpose. “I want to be a tree. In my childhood home, we had this ginormous live oak out front. So big you could stand beneath it and not see a lick of sky. The thing had roots so deep and so wide that it tore up part of our driveway one summer. Dad was so annoyed.” She lets out a breathy laugh while shaking her head at nothing, gaze pinned somewhere far away. “I want to be like that. To land somewhere as nothing more than a seed and then grow and grow and grow. I want to have roots so big and bountiful that you couldn’t dream of moving me. I want the whole shebang: a home and a family and a long, beautiful life, none of which are framed around what could’ve been or what should’ve been.

“I want to take my children to the store without people tutting about how it’s a shame my parents aren’t here to see them. I want to go on a vacation with my family and not feel haunted by my memories at every turn. Then I want to return home to said beautiful life and find no evidence that it was ever anything less.” She whimpers softly, but I hear it all the same. Then, quietly, she adds, “I’ve been alive all this time, Kit, but it doesn’t feel like I’ve really been living.”

Her words resonate deep in my chest, causing a sickening ache for something,anythingthat’ll make the yearning go away. I felt it once, back when Courtney and I first fell in love. I truly believed we’d grow old together. Have children and grandchildren. Sit in rocking chairs on our front porch sipping tea till the end of our days.

After the divorce, I resigned myself to the fact that it was all just a fairy tale. No one really has that life. Least of all me. But now, sitting here with Tess, I catch a glimpse of it again. It’s almost more painful than having written it off in the first place, to want it again and have no guarantee of it happening. After all, while I’m seeing Tess in that imagined future, she could be seeing anyone. Or no one at all. Just a blank slate to strive toward, with no pieces of the past still hanging around.

I clear my throat, forcing the images from my mind. “So not traveling the world? Sampling the ice cream bars in, say, Italy? For example.”

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